


Conversations with Death

by fireflysglow_archivist



Category: Firefly
Genre: F/M, Implied Jayne Cobb/River Tam
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2005-05-16
Updated: 2005-05-16
Packaged: 2019-04-29 06:21:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,636
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14466837
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fireflysglow_archivist/pseuds/fireflysglow_archivist
Summary: Jayne ponders death and Death ponders him.





	Conversations with Death

**Author's Note:**

> Note from alice ttlg, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [Firefly’s Glow](https://fanlore.org/wiki/Firefly%27s_Glow), and was moved to the AO3 as part of the Open Doors project in 2018. I tried to reach out to all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are the creator and would like to claim this work, please contact me using the e-mail address on [Firefly's Glow collection profile](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/fireflysglow/profile).

Conversations with Death

## Conversations with Death

Conversation with Death 

By Cassandra E 

Disclaimer: Not mine, really, at all. So sue me. 

Author Notes:   
This story, better yet the incident that happens to Jayne in the cemetery was inspired by real life events. Seven year olds should listen when their nana tells them to stay put in a graveyard. I was not one of them. 

Special Note to Eye of the Beholder readers: 

Also, umm, due to the latest reviews I have been getting for Eye of the Beholder, umm, I really flattered, truly am. I say this humbly. It means a lot that people still think of this story, after all this time of not updating. To tell you the truth, I was having serious doubts about the story and my writing in general; EOTB was really exhausting to write, with the emotional rollercoaster of the characters draining me. This story really pulled me in, really made see through the characters' eyes, it was quite the feeling. Still is. I had some real life bumps since writing Ch. 10. Stressful personal issues aside, I lost due to virus and spyware trouble most of Ch.11 after being so close to finishing it. Managed to save some mangled bits and I've been dreading to go back again to write it. Because I think it won't be as good as the original. I know this is just in my head. It's been hard to write, hard to focus with some issues at home. 

But know this; I won't leave this story unfinished. I've always been one of those readers that hated reading an unfinished story, and agonized over the would be ending. Thank you readers, for those nudges and shoves, they are felt and heard. You'll be hearing more about Inara Serra's journey very soon. I will be posting some other FF stories I've been working on meantime, here. 

Yours truly,   
Cassandra E 

Summary: Jayne ponders death and Death ponders him. 

* * *

They stayed the night on St. Albans after they arrived. The funeral wouldn't be till tomorrow and it was late anyhow. It would've been seen as rude to not accept Tracey's folk's offer of hospitality. Captain didn't want to add salt to the scar of a son lost and there was honoring to be done for his fallen comrade. People had pride and they were grateful to those who had brought their son home, even if it was in a metal casket. Jayne just wondered how come it was him that got stuck with guard duty for the gorram casket outside in the cold. Just watching as the snow softly fell on the dull metal surface made his hair stand on end. 

Jayne was no stranger to death; he killed plenty of folks in his time. In fact, it was his job. He was the muscle and as such his purpose was to encourage chun fools to spit out any information worth knowing by placing the fear of God or, as happened in most cases, death in them. Jayne knew people were afraid of death because he feared the same gorram thing. Death was a part of his job, his lifestyle. Like he told the Shepherd--sooner or later it was comin' for him. 

It was always there waiting. Sometimes Jayne could feel its boney hands around his neck, almost touching. Just waitin' for his moment. He knew It was there. 

Death. 

The mercenary pulled the orange cap further down until it covered his eyebrows. He stuffed the earflaps in at the collar of his coat. He blew on his hands in efforts to warm them. Maybe next time Ma will be sending along matching gloves, he certainly wouldn't mind them. Thinking of the sweet tempered woman with her graying blonde hair made Jayne smile. His smile was soon replaced with a frown as he mulled on how much his mother would cry when he was dead. 

His thoughts soon led to a bigger question: would anybody bother to take his body back home? Would he even have a casket like the one he was guarding? 

* * *

They called him Reaper Joe. Not `cause he killed folk or anything, but because he buried them when they was good and stiff. When the bucket was kicked so to speak--goners, dead as door nails. His name weren't Joe either in fact nobody knew his real name. Reaper Joe had such a nice ring to it, so that's how it stayed. Reaper Joe himself never minded. Reaper Joe never said a word neither--just nodded his head or shook it and grunted. Some said he was a mute. Some said he fell into a bad group and had his tongue cut off. 

Out of the wildest rumors and tall tales, there was always the one about him staring death in the face. That the man's fear of dying was so great, his tongue just fell off when he tried to tell Death, "No sir, I won't be going with ya." Then there was other one about him selling his voice to the devil so he wouldn't have to die. 

Twelve year-old Jayne always like hearing the stories as did his younger brother Mattie, short for Matthew. His older sister of four years, Jeanie, was good at tellin' them. She'd gotten Pa's looks just like Jayne had. Dark haired and light green eyes, her voice so low that it made the stories all the scarier. Jeanie was special. Unlike Jayne, who was intent on lazing his life away, Jeanie was going places--smart as a pickle, highest grades in her whole class. Ma was proud of her girl as Pa. Golden apple of their eye. Jeanie shined like a super nova. 

So when the yellow fever struck first in the Merton Household, neighbor's of the Cobb's--soon enough poor Jeanie was down with it too. Mattie got sick a bit, but not as bad as Jeanie. Jayne watched as her pretty glossy dark hair turned dull and dry while her skin took a yellow cast. He never caught the fever; mother always said God had blessed him with luck. However, Jeanie didn't last long living only two weeks with the fever. 

Jayne had been the one to find her after. Ma had gone to fetch more medicine in town. Supplies were running low since the Alliance hadn't been releasing as much medical supplies for those on the Rim. Half the galaxy was in blaze with whispers of uprisings. And each year, the Alliance just kept sticking its nose where it don't belong. Nobody ever dreamed though that in just a few more years war would be upon them. 

He went into her room with a glass of water. Ma said she needed to drink liquids like Doctor Philips ordered. He thought she was sleeping when he saw that her eyes were closed. Her cheeks had sunken in and the bones of her collar bone stood out painfully since Jeanie hadn't been hungry in the past two weeks. "Jeanie girl, got you some water," He told her as he picked up the fallen blanket from the floor. 

Jayne placed the glass on the nightstand when she didn't open her eyes. When he nudged her with his hand, her head lolled on the pillow just like a dead fowl after a day of hunting. She was cold like the first day of winter and it seeped into Jayne's hand. His imagination made it seem death was leeching onto him. He noticed no rising and fall of breath. He knew then she was dead. 

He wasn't surprised; he'd seen death before, but he was saddened. He even felt like cryin', even though Pa always said cryin' was for girls. And Jayne weren't a girl, even if he did have a girl's name. He covered her face with the blanket and wondered who would tell Mattie and him stories now. 

When Ma came home later and found Jeanie, he could hear her crying from where he sat in Mattie's room. His brother slept peacefully, not knowing that Jayne kept vigil at his side. 

* * *

Jayne finally gave up on standing. Tracey's mother had been kind enough to bring out a stool for him to sit on. Even gave him some hot cider to drink to `warm his bones,' she said. He would've preferred some nice whiskey, but he wouldn't complain to the old woman. 

He envied the Captain and the others in the warm house as he listened to the faint sounds of laughter from inside. Jayne cursed as his annoyance grew. Who'd steal a body anyways? To be fair, Jayne would, if there was money in it. Or steal from it. Yeah, Jayne would steal from a dead body. What did the dead have use for things? They didn't even need a casket, just a bag or no bag at all. Just a hole in the ground. Dirt and worms served as company. 

"You was stupid you know" Jayne told the casket in front of him. "Couldn't wait for Mal to tell you what he had planned. And Mal was stupid for not tellin' ya sooner. Now look where you is?" The mercenary nodded wisely, finishing off the last of the cider. It was shame the fake organs were no use with the body bein' dead and all. Some nice cash could've been made, plain waste as far as he could see. Damn kid had a death wish just like Mal. Only case with the Captain, he'd seen death, been near it and now didn't give a good gorram if he pissed It off. Jayne envied that too. 

The snow began to fall harder. If it got too much, Jayne was goin' back to Serenity. No way in the nine hells was he gonna become a frozen popsicle for some idiot corpse. He didn't care if Mal got tetchy with him. 

"Oh death, oh death, what is this?" a voice sang from the shadows as the wind whistled making the voice grow faint. Jayne jumped at the sound; he pulled his hunting knife from its sheath. Fear coursed through him as he remembered the stories from his childhood. 

"Well, what is this that I can't see?" The voice came again, sweet and pitched. Familiar. The voice. The song. And then he knew. 

* * *

They were gonna bury her in two days. Mother fixed her up pretty, but Jayne didn't watch of course. He saw her when Ma finished. She had been laid out on a table in the cellar, her haired curled and a thin sheet covering her body. Jeanie had on her Sunday best, a pretty blue calico she had gotten for last Christmas. She had worn it on her first date with Tommy Jesse, a boy from Two Hills settlement. Didn't seem right that she would wear it to her grave where it would just dissolve like nothing. Feeding the worms and earth. Like she never existed. Dust to dust, ashes to ashes. 

Mattie had cried when he found out about Jeanie's death. Pa told him to stop his sniveling and his eyes had gotten that mean look they took on when he's ready to hit something. Jayne had pinched Mattie hard to get him to shut up. He had stopped crying then. 

A day before burial, Jayne took off from home. Pa had started drinkin' more than usual. When he drank, he got meaner. Jayne didn't like when he got that way. And Ma didn't like it none when they fought. Jayne had grown quickly, almost matching Pa in height. But Pa was stronger, so Jayne usually got the rough end of it. 

He ended up in Timmons's Square and met up with Jimmy Henderson at Miller's well. Both of their Pas worked in the coal mines. Jimmy was a year older than Jayne, but scrawny has a strung up chicken. The older boy leaned on the old well, chewing on a piece of dried up straw. "Heard about Jeanie, Jayne. Sorry about that. Shame too, she was real `purdy gal." 

Jayne shrugged, not caring. "Peoples die all the time. Half the town is sick with the gorram fever. You got some of that whiskey?" 

"Might've, might've." Jimmy answered cryptically, gnawing on the straw. "What's it to you?" 

"Quiet pissin' around, Jimmy. I'll pay you later." Jayne replied, drawing up to his full height. He gave his most menacing glare. "You heard what happened to Daniels last week?" 

Jimmy laughed, making the straw fall from his mouth. "Yeah, quite the shiner he was sportin'. You got him good." 

"Well, give me a drink if you don't want to be sportin' one. `Cause I can fix you up real good," Jayne flexed his fist for emphasis. 

Jimmy moved away from the well, his hands up in surrender. The teen knew Cobb would wallop him good even if he was younger. "Now Jayne, don't go getting' all violent like. I treat you good, don't I? Just was askin' for some recompen, recompe..." 

"Recompense." Jayne finished for him, irritated, "Chunren." 

"Gunkai, Cobb. I don't have to be givin' you nothing. You is underage, shouldn't be drinkin." Jimmy puffed in counter measure, oblivious that the statement applied to him too. "You think you is all the shit, but you're a nobody like the rest us. You'll go work in a mine like your Pa, just like I'll do the same. And you'll take drinkin' like you is already. And then you'll be hittin' your kids and your woman, or your whores. So don't be playin'..." Jimmy didn't get to finish as Jayne's fist busted his face. 

"Hundan!" Jimmy spat out, wiping the blood from his nose--he laughed. "I knew you was gonna do that. Sumofbitch." 

"My Mother ain't no bitch. She's a lady," Jayne reminded him as he stepped on the other boy's hand. He made sure to dig his boot in real good. Jimmy cried out and cursed. 

"Fuck it, Jayne, damn, it was a way speaking was all." Jimmy gasped in pain, "Why's you gotta take everything so as it is." 

"Where's the damn whiskey? You had to go makin'everything so hard on yourself, Jimmy. Just give me the whiskey." Jayne demanded once more. He needed the golden burning liquid to help erase the image of Jeanie lying still on table in the cellar and the sound of Mother's crying. 

"Fine, I'll give you the whiskey on one condition." Jimmy bartered, "I'll give it to ya if you by Wallings Cemetery and take Reaper Joe's shovel." 

"You're moonbrained," Jayne said with disbelief. Nobody went to Wallings Cemetery by themselves. Especially not when Reaper Joe was around. Some said that Death walked beside him and anybody that got near him soon fell dead as roadkill. Just like Thomas Mallory of Ying Road. Man went by the cemetery to leave flowers for his grandma and saw Reaper Joe shoveling in the distance. Next day he was thrown from his horse and broke his neck. "Why in the nine hells do you want Reaper Joe's shovel?" 

Jimmy smiled sheepishly. "Well, Daniels dared me. Said if I didn't, he tell Les Timory I'd been stealing from his liquor supply. And you know Les'... they said he killed a man with his hands the other day. For giving him a bad deal." 

"You been stealing from Les Timory? You're stupider than I thought," Jayne said smugly. "You're gonna end hanged." 

"That's why you need to get Reaper Joe's shovel. Get Daniels off my back and you get your whiskey and I won't get myself dead. It's a good deal. Recompens..." Jimmy got stuck on the word again. "What it's again?" 

"Recompense." 

"Yeah, yeah, what you said." Jimmy nodded eagerly, then slyly added, "You ain't scared are ya?" 

Jayne sputtered, lies falling easily from his tongue. "Ain't scared of no fool man who don't talk." 

"Then you'll do it." 

* * *

Jayne strained to hear where the voice was coming from. The sheet of wind and snow was made it hard to hear and see. He took a step forward and let out a curse when his legs bumped into the casket. 

The mysterious voice called out once more, "It's your icy hands, take `em off me. Oh, yes, I've come to take your soul." 

Jayne felt the touch of cold long fingers dancing on his neck. He flinched before turning quickly and slashing the intruder. 

No one was there. 

"And leave your body, leave it cold." 

He looked down and saw footprints; they circled around the casket. Jayne scanned his surroundings and saw nothing. He was temped to open it,just to make sure Tracey was really, really, dead this time. The fear uncurled in his belly, It was there. It was finally here. He tried to think rationally, but the age old fear was still there. Death had come for him. He looked down at the footprints again, and noticed the size if them. A different suspicion took hold and created a seed of doubt nagging at the back of his mind. 

Movement came from behind, the crunch of icy snow beneath booted feet. The voice was closer now, clearer. "Oh, death, please give me time. Give me time." 

Jayne knew the lines before the voice sang them. He never could forget it. How could he? 

* * *

He remembered Mother tellin' him to respect the dead. And Jayne thought he respected them half the time. Nobody gave much thought to the dead. The dead don't speak or see or nothing, so it's not like they can take offense to what you do. 

Wallings Cemetery was one of the oldest cemeteries in town. The other one was Mercy's Garden of Remembrance. The rich folks' cemetery with their shiny trimmed grass and its own garden to boot. Wallings Cemetery looked as if it had existed since the day of Earth-That-Was. Unkempt, its iron gates rusted through, one of the walls had been knocked down during a minor hurricane five years back. Jayne pushed his way through the gate and it squeaked in protest. The tombstones were in crypt style like in the Old South on Earth. One boulder contained a generation of one family, one coffin stacked on top of the other. Half of the cemetery sported the look which made getting out like a maze. 

Jayne circled around as he tried to remember where the gravedigger's shed was located. Sundown was nearing and he wanted to be out by then. It had been ages since he came here with his folks to bury Granny Cobb and then he had been only five. He kicked a rock out of his path, sighing. Stupid Jimmy, stupid whiskey. He fucking hated cemeteries. They gave him the willies, more so with the stories Jeanie used to tell. And then there was that Reaper Joe. 

He was just about to say to hell with everything - Jimmy, the whiskey and Pa when he heard the singing. The voice was craggy, and deep, making Jayne's heart beat faster as his once smug bravo started to fail him. 

"Well, what is this that I can't see. It's your icy hands, take 'em off of me. Oh, yes, I've come to get your soul. And leave your body. Leave it cold." The voice continued his song; Jayne could her it coming closer. "Oh, death please give me time, to lift my heart and change my mind. Your heart is fixed, your mind is bound, I have the shackles to drag you down." 

Jayne didn't wait around to hear the rest. He took off running as if the very devil was after him. As he ran all he thought about was that the gorram stories were true. They was true and now death was coming. He criss-crossed through the cemetery and only managed to lose himself further in the maze of crypts in a blind, desperate effort to lose the imagined reaper at his back. Sweat began to drip from his brow and he could feel his shirt sticking to his body. Jayne tripped on a rock and threw his hands forward to break his fall. He uttered a low curse as the sting of loose pebbles bit into his skin. Forcing himself up again, he continued fleeing. 

But no matter what, the voice carried throughout the graves in pursuit. 

The fear that took hold of his mind was so consuming that Jayne didn't see the open grave in front of him. It wasn't until he tipped over and saw the darkness of the moist earth rise up to greet him that he screamed. He hit the ground hard and the world blacked out when his head hit something sharp. 

Dimly he still heard the voice singing. 

* * *

She was just like a ghost from Jeanie's stories. Pale skin, dark tangled hair, and wide knowing eyes--she could have been the perfect Wailing Woman. The spirit of a woman wronged who punished misbehaving children by drowning them in a river. 

Jayne wasn't exactly a child, but he knew he had wronged the person in front of him. He heard the echoes of the screams from St. Lucy's hospital still. Those cries of pure terror stayed with a man and didn't let sleep come easy. 

She sat on the edge of casket looking at him as the wind blew her hair back. River wore an old ragged brown coat of Mal's over her ragged dress to keep the cold away. Pale white hands poked out from the long sleeves, delicate and seemingly fragile. Jayne stupidly wondered if those hands could choke away life. He still felt the imaginary imprint of bony hands at his neck. 

"I'll fix your hips so you can't walk. I'll fix your mouth so you can't talk. I'll close your eyes so you can't see," River said. She cocked her head to the side, eyes on Jayne. "Do you think they'll hear you scream when your inside? They never heard me." 

"Huh?" Jayne said. "What in tarnation are you doin' out here? You is supposed inside with the others." Relief flooded through him as well as embarrassment over his foolish assumption that death was here for him. Child tales. He stopped bein' a child long time ago. He was glad he hadn't gone running off to the others, would've made a fool of himself. Vaguely he wondered how he hadn't been able to pick her out from the beginning. 

"The dead speak you know. The worms inside their mouths just make it harder to be heard. They poke out your eyes too. So they can't see, makes it harder to find you. But they remember and they know." River explained. "You can't bargain with them." 

"Who?" Jayne asked. 

"Death." River revealed, nodding. "The dead speak their memories, people can't hear them. But death does. It has a good memory. Do you have a good memory Jayne?" 

He looked away nervously as images of what happened on Ariel flashed through his mind. "What are you tryin' to say?" "You're afraid." 

* * *

Jayne felt something cold on his face. His head ached something fierce and something was poking at his back. He pulled himself into a sitting position as he rubbed the grogginess from his eyes. Cold mud streaked his face. Jayne looked up and saw that it was raining. A storm was hitting town making the dirt loosen and slickening the sides of the grave. Realization came to him suddenly as to where he was. 

Panic began to build, his breath coming in pants, shivering from the cold. He pulled at whatever was sticking at his back. Lightening flashed and the clouds thundered rumbled, briefly illuminating the grave. Jayne's eyes went wide and he began to tremble when he saw that his hand held a bone. He yelped and flung it aside. He stood quickly and nearly fell as his head spun. His foot kicked something solid. Looking down he saw a skull grinning at him as a worm peeked from the empty eye sockets, indignant at the disturbance. 

Lightening struck again, letting Jayne see in the eerie white blue light that half of the grave was littered with bones. He screamed and tried scrambling upwards, but the mud was too slick. Jayne closed his eyes, not wanting to see the other occupants in the room. 

He shook his head and an idea formed in his mind. Grabbing a broken tibia bone and that of a femur, he used them as leverage to stick into the slick mud. After a few more struggles, he managed to climb to the edge of the grave pulling his body upwards with the bones. Opening his eyes, he saw thick boots in front of him. Jayne almost choked then as fear closed his throat. 

Reaper Joe stared at him, mouth wide open as if wanting to speak. "Oh, what is this..." he sung and then the man fell forward into the grave, almost taking Jayne with him. 

Horrified Jayne stared down at the pit of bones and finally pulled himself out of the grave. He ran, falling and slipping on the wet ground. He ignored the cuts and the bruises, his lungs burning--begging for air. In the distance, he saw the crumbled wall in the east side. Jayne pushed his legs harder, leaping over and skidding to the ground. Pain flared in his ankle, but it mattered none to him. He didn't look back. 

And he forgot about the shovel. 

* * *

"I ain't afraid of nothin'," Jayne lied, keeping his stance defensive. 

"You're lying Jayne, nothing good will come of it." River replied. "You have issues." 

"And you're crazier...than crazy," he finished lamely. 

River stood up, easing in the space between them. "She's sad you didn't say good bye. So she tells the stories to the others." 

Jayne ignored her words, even while knowing full well who she spoke of. Jeanie. He never went to the funeral the next day, choosing instead to hide in the caves used for hideaways for when outlanders attacked. It wasn't till later that the outlanders got a name and people started calling them Reavers. 

From what mother said of it two days later, they found Reaper Joe in Jeanie's grave. Folks told stories of how pure terror was etched onto the man's face. Some swore it was the shock of Death finally getting his soul. Others said it was of seeing the old Stitch himself. But Jayne always knew the real reason. 

And Reaper Joe did not have his tongue cut. It was still attached firmly as the day he was born. 

When Jimmy Henderson's hand was cut off by Les Timory after Daniels tattled on him, Jayne could never look Jimmy in the eye afterwards. The guilt of it never left and nothing changed that, not even the fact that Reaper Joe's shovel disappeared as soon as the grave digger croaked. That had started another generation of tales from the townspeople. 

Jayne took hold of River by the arm with the intent of dragging her back to the house. But River held her ground. Smiling at him, she started sticking out her tongue to catch the snow flakes. "Translucent ice crystals form around dust or other small substances in the atmosphere when water vapor condenses at temperatures below the freezing level. Partly melted crystals cling together to form snowflakes. In rare cases they grow in size up to 3 to 4 in diameter," River informed him. "Snow tears. The earth cries." 

He let the load of gibberish go through his mind, his eyes transfixed on her tongue. Jayne blamed the freezing cold for making her rosy cheeks and mouth appealing. It was a good thing it was so gorram cold. 

"If you say so. Come on and git. Your da ge is probably wetting his pants at not finding you." 

River closed her mouth and frowned. "You don't have to be afraid Jayne." 

Jayne smirked. "I told ya I ain't afraid...and what do you know, you're moonbrained. Don't know what you're talking about." 

"I'll remember. I have a good memory," River said, pulling away. She traced a cold finger down his nose. "We'll have conversations with cider. You can have whiskey in yours...and I'll fade away." Her image wavered and for a second he saw Jeanie's green eyes laughing at him and her low voice saying, "Goodbye Jayne." 

Something cold and slushy hit Jayne in the face; he blinked and Jeanie was gone. He was sitting on the stool, hunched over for warmth. The morning sun was hidden behind clouds and Mal was scowling. Zoe wore a matching expression next to him. 

"Mal? What...?" Jayne sputtered, rubbing the wetness from his eyes. He eyed the other snowball in the Zoe's hand warily. "What the hell was that for?" 

The glare darkened on the captain's face. "I give you a job to do and you sleep on it." 

Jayne stretched from his position, checking that casket was still there. "So...it's still there, ain't it?" 

"Well, someone was here. How else do you explain the footprints? And this..." Zoe pointed to the extra teacup that sat next to the tin one Tracey's mother had brought out. "You had a guest?" 

Jayne took offense at the accusation. "Like any sane person would be out in that gorram storm last night. I was here `cause captain said stand guard. And I's did. No need to get tetchy." 

Mal and Zoe shared dubious looks, then the captain nodded and Zoe let loose the snowball at Jayne. The mercenary cursed as the cold hit his face. Mal picked up one end of the coffin and Zoe the other. "The others are getting ready for the burial. You comin'?" 

At mention of burial, Jayne shrugged nonchalantly. "Yeah, just got to...do some things." He didn't tell them he would never step foot in a cemetery as long he was alive. Last time he checked, he was very much alive. Jayne waited until Zoe and Mal were gone to pick up the cups. Leaning down, he studied the footprints. He could've sworn they were the same as the ones he'd seen in the dream. It was a dream, wasn't it? 

Maybe Tracey's ma had slipped something in the cider after all. But how did that explain the footprints? Too small for Tracey's ma and they sure weren't his. 

When his hand touched the second cup, it crumbled to dirt. Jayne's eyes widened as the dirt slid through his fingers. "What the..." 

Snow crunched behind him and he heard a voice sing in a whisper, "This very hour come go with me." When Jayne turned around, no one was there. In the distance he saw Kaylee, Simon and River coming out of Serenity. He glowered when he saw the doc holdin' lil'Kaylee's hand. They went in the same direction as the capt'n and Zoe had. 

River lagged behind the two, she stopped for a moment as if she felt Jayne's stare on them. She looked at him, a curious smile on her mouth. Her pale cheeks were tinged pink by the cold. She wore a ragged brown coat and for some reason Jayne knew it was Mal's. And he recalled what she had said in the dream: 

"Death." River revealed, nodding. "The dead speak their memories, people can't hear them. But death does hear them. It has a good memory. Do you have a good memory Jayne?" 

When he let it sink in, his eyes widen. Naw. It was a dream. Couldn't be. 

I have a good memory." River said, pulling away. She traced a cold finger down his nose. "We'll have conversations with cider. 

He looked back at the crumbled cup. "Crazy. Plain crazy talk." When he glanced back towards River, she was gone. 

* * *

Later, once they were off and breaking atmo', Jayne had almost convinced himself that it had been a dream. And that the cup had crumbled because it had been frozen. He conveniently forgot that it had crumbled to dirt because everybody knew cups don't crumble to dirt. He ignored the fact that the dirt had been moist as if fresh from the ground after spring had bloomed into season. Or that it had smelled distantly of earth deep from the ground, an odor like dirt in an open grave. 

And he knew the dead couldn't speak. There was a reason for the saying "Dead men tell no tales". `Cause they didn't. Jeanie was good and dead. Didn't matter none what the Tam girl had said. Hell, he didn't even talk to her `cause it were a dream. And people can't talk in their dreams or eat snowflakes. And most of all, there was no way in nine hells that some crazy moonbrained girl was Death. Jayne was satisfied that the night's experience had been a dream influenced by the cold. 

Sniffing warm cider brewing, he walked into the dining area. Simon was pouring River a cup at the table while Inara and Kaylee sat at the far end. Jayne could hear the low murmurs of their voices. Shoving Simon none too lightly as he crossed over to the counter, he began to pour cider in a cup. 

River started humming a tune with an all too familiar rhythm. Jayne froze, overflowing the cup with cider. Simon gave his mei mei a curious look. " River, what's that you're singing?" 

The girl sipped her cider and flicked a glance at Jayne as she answered, "It's an old folk song. From Earth-that -Was called Conversations with Death." 

* * *

**FIN**

* * *

 

 

 

 

 

 

Title:   **Conversations with Death**   
Author:   **Cassandra E**   [website]   
Details:   **Standalone**  |  **PG**  |  **gen**  |  **30k**  |  **05/16/05**   
Characters:  Jayne, River, Other   
Pairings:  Very vague River/Jayne elements   
Summary:  Jayne ponders death and Death ponders him.   
  



End file.
